I will post. At some point. If you're reading this, obviously that point has come. But I don't think the world needs to see what I have to say yet. These thoughts and situations are still too private. But I need to get them out. I want to capture this moment and share it with my readers, few as they may be, but I can't share yet.
In my last post, I mentioned that I would be working with my dad on a project the next day. That day has come and gone. So did six more days after that. We were expecting three or four. Maybe five at worst. But nothing like seven. And soon to be eight. We're praying it doesn't come to nine.
In my head today I have been calling this "the job from Sheol." Never before have I even entertained the idea of condemning anything to Sheol, so this is evidence of how disturbed it has made me.
The job: put up drywall in a whole house. That seemed fairly daunting, but there are five of us, so I thought it wouldn't be so bad. Then we got there the first day, and I realize we have to do the ceilings. Not just the walls. I was only thinking about walls. Ceilings are a whole different story. Ceilings are high. And there's no help in resisting gravity.
I was still rather optimistic, though. I usually am. We'll work hard and we'll get this done in no time.
But it was a lot harder than I thought. I won't go into too many details. All that needs to be said is that it was an entire house. And only one of us is a professional in this area. But as professional in knowledge and skill as my dad is, he doesn't have the right kind of equipment to do this kind of thing as efficiently as those who specialize in doing only this, especially for a job of this size. So we, the posse of non-professionals yet hard workers, followed behind the able professional and gave it our all.
And it's still not done. Despite our best efforts, and even some help from a couple friends who joined us a few of the days, progress was slow.
It might be more worth it if the payoff was bigger. But considering how long it's taking to do and how expensive it is trying to sustain ourselves and facilitate the work to the end, the money that we're going to get is not going to be much. Which is disappointing, because the potential for money is why my dad took the job. We really needed it. As events have played out, though, we would have been better off if we had all stayed home and my dad had only worked his morning job that barely pays him anything.
But that's not really so bad. We've lived without money. We can do it some more. What's worse is the work itself.
I'm not against working hard. Or getting dirty. I willingly plunge myself headfirst into many dirty situations where there's not even an illusion of getting payment. Hard work and dirt can be rewarding.
But there's nothing rewarding about what I've been doing the past seven days. Aside from experience. And stories. This is the kind of stuff you do to help out a friend. Or to fix up your own house. There's a different feel to the work when you're doing it only to improve someone's living situation, either the friend's or that of your own. It can be fun. You can learn a lot. You can feel like you're making a difference.
But this is soulless work. There's a demand to get it done yesterday. You walk in to start the job and you're already behind schedule. There's no grace. At all. It's just hard, and nothing you can do is good enough. And you don't know the people you're working for. There's no personal connection. Worst of all, you're just doing it to make money. I hate working to make money. I know that's the system in which we operate, and I can handle it, as long as what I'm doing serves some other kind of purpose. But this doesn't. I've been trying for a week to focus on redeeming things about this, and I've been so hard-pressed to find them that I've actually been depressed for the first time in a really long time.
Most everything I tend to do in my life, however hard it may be, is typically life-giving. Enriching. Edifying. I went to college and got a degree. I didn't really understand what that was about, and it was so hard sometimes that I prayed for God to release me from it, but I still got something out of it. I found something every day to love about what I did. I work at camp every summer. Sometimes, while I'm giving those kids my all, I feel like a disrespected martyr. But then I see their lives being changed by Christ and I give up all desire for respect. I write and I sing, constantly wondering what the point is. I'm only marginally skilled at either one and neither of them have manifested in a career yet, nor do I see a way right now in which they will. But then God reminds that they're a part of who I am. He has purpose in them. I need to do them because that's how he made me. Life isn't about a career. It's about living, loving and being who you are.
I haven't really been who I am for a week. I'm not wired to do this kind of thing. I'm a thinker. I'm an expresser. I'm a server. This doesn't allow me to do any of them. The work is so demanding, I can't think about anything other than what's right in front of me. I mindlessly measure a piece of drywall (whose idea was it to give the English major the math job, anyway), mindlessly help carry it to its proper place, mindlessly put mud in all of the holes and mindlessly attempt to make it smooth. I'm so engrossed in work that my mind and heart become strangers to me. At first, we weren't completely distant from each other, but the pain of seeing them from afar and not being allowed to come any closer was so great that I wanted it to end. So I shut down completely. I didn't allow myself to think. I didn't allow myself to do anything but robotically, as best as I could, do the work before me.
I don't make a good robot.
One of the few things I did allow myself to think was how much I don't want my dad to do this kind of work anymore. He's worked like this his whole life, and he seems to hold up pretty well considering, but he doesn't need to have to only hold up pretty well considering. My dad's a genius. And I know that I know that I know that his heart isn't in this. He's like me, he needs to use his brain. He has two science degrees for goodness sake! I knew what he did was hard, but until this point, I didn't know how hard. If I'm going crazy from not being able to use my brain and from having to deal with unfeeling people who don't seem to put forth the bare minimum of being grateful for what I'm doing for them, then I can only assume that my dad lives in a perpetual state of frustration and defeatedness. That saddens me.
As depressing as this is, the job from Sheol wouldn't have been so bad were it not for other things happening at the same time. Most things wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for something else.
One day, as we were coming down our street, ready to get inside our house after a long, tiring day of work, we looked at our front yard and were flabbergasted by what we saw. I actually think I stopped breathing for a second. Right before I got the feeling of acceptance that comes when a person is operating under a belief in Murphy's Law. Our landlord had staked a for sale sign in the front yard. Which most likely means that we will need to move. Unless the buyer miraculously told us we could stay in the house, which they might be inclined to do if they were only buying it for rental property. We're not opposed to moving, but right now? While we're in the middle of this life-sucking job and can't even be home long enough to mow the lawn or wash the dishes? While we're broke and don't see how we can afford to even get our cars down the road once, much less the vehicle power it will take to move us and all of our possessions to a dwelling we can't afford to make a deposit on?
Also, we got a call on our second day of work from a friend. He's been having a tough time getting himself settled on his own two feet (something I understand) and it hasn't been helped by trouble at home. There's been constant tension with his mom and he needed to get away. We asked him if he would be interested in working with us, and offered to let him hang out at our house for the weekend so that things could cool off. He seemed to be cool with that situation. We even picked one of his younger brothers up a couple of days to let him get out of the house, and while he didn't stay with us overnight, it was good for him to spend those days away. After the weekend was over, the first friend went back to his home and, without any provocation from him at all, his mom was nothing but disrespectful to him and told him he had to leave. She wouldn't let him stay.
We couldn't let him drift out on the street, so he's now temporarily living with us. Even though we don't really have a good place for him where we live now. And we're struggling to afford to feed ourselves. AND we're now facing the possibility of having to move in the near future.
Usually, when I'm in the middle of having a week that looks something like a heavyweight championship boxing match, I at least have the consolation that I can gather with other like-minded people on Sunday, hear encouraging truth, and sing praise to the God that I know loves me and is giving me grace to make it through every moment of my life. But that consolation was out my reach this week. The whole day was spent working in a hot house, staring for the fifth day at drywall. God had a reason in place when he told the Israelites to regularly take a day off. It wasn't just because he wanted to lord another law over their heads. He knew it was for their own good. They needed to rest. And they needed to have a time to recenter their minds and hearts on what was ultimately important.
I spent most of Sunday forgetting that it was Sunday and feeling like my life was messed up every time I remembered that it was.
For many days now, my insides have been screaming "This isn't me! This is not what my life is supposed to look like! I shouldn't be here! I'm supposed to be establishing myself as an independent person in the world, finding what it is that I'm going to do with my life, and I know it's not this! But I can't do that, because I'm stuck here in this neverending hole of dirt that is slowly draining my life out of me."
I miss my friends. Or just people in general. My one consolation in the human department is that I have my family to commiserate with. This really would be unbearable without them.
I miss wondering about life.
I miss exploring.
I miss learning.
I miss dreaming.
I miss being able to touch a book. I don't even have to read one right now. I've been so dirty that just feeling one has been a luxury taken from me. To only hold one would be a joy.
I miss singing. I haven't been so altered from myself during this that I haven't sung at all, but I haven't really sung. Not like a singer sings. I just kind of sang, passively. A lot of people sing. It's something that all kinds of people do, even when they can't match a pitch to save their life. I want to really sing. To do it like my life depended on it. Because it does.
I miss writing. Like singing, writing is something that all kinds of people do. Making letters that form into words that form into sentences that form into paragraphs is a skill we learn in school and we couldn't function in this society without doing it. But not everyone who writes is a writer. I want to write like my life depended on it. Because it does.
I miss helping people. I have friends with immediate needs, and I can't attend to them because I'm stuck in a house where I don't belong. And whenever I emerge I'm so disoriented and out of it, that I can't even walk in a straight line. (I have honestly felt like I've been in a constant state of drunkenness for days. Or at least what I imagine drunkenness to be.)
I miss my life. It has been all but stolen from me this week.
"I've spent some days looking for a length of rope
And a place to hang it from the end of my hope
Where I thought hope had ended I always find a little bit more
It's not like I'm trying to be optimistic
If the truth be told I'd rather dismiss it
And be free from the burden of the living that hoping requires
To bring my heart to every day
And run the risk of fearlessly loving
Without running away"
-Jason Gray
Now that I've had a day off from working on this job I've had a chance to better assess my emotional state. And it's not great.
I said I missed all of those things that seem to make me who I am, so one would think that I would go back to them like riding a bicycle. I mean, they're me. But I haven't. Not really. I feel really detached. I want to do something, but I don't know what. Singing doesn't seem right. I've squeaked out a few notes, but there was no conviction behind them. They just came out and died. And I can't really write, either. This is the most writing I feel I can do. And it's only a shadow of what I want to do. The only thing I feel I can write at this time is how I feel. And the only way I can write it is like a messy flood. Creativity is lost on me.
And I feel like I can't think. I do miss exploring the world and trying to make sense of it with my mind, but every time I try to, I feel overwhelmed. The world is too big for me. Thoughts are too big for me. I so want to go out and connect with people. Or even stay in and connect with people. But it's too much. Like my writing, I don't think I could talk about anything but my life. And how I feel. But I can't do that. If it were just me, I wouldn't care. But what's happening to me involves my whole family, and I can't share their secrets. That's why I'm writing without posting. And I could plausibly go out with people and not say anything about myself. Just listen to them and what they have to say. But I wouldn't get it right now. The words they would speak would sound foreign. Their life would be strange. I wouldn't be able to come out of myself long enough to understand how they feel. I'd be so disconnected they couldn't help but wonder what's wrong. And that's saying a lot, because I go around living a lot of my life disconnected from the people I'm breathing the same air with. I think people come to expect it from me.
I want to connect so badly, that sitting in the same room with someone and being unable to connect would be more heartbreaking than staying away altogether.
I feel like a non-entity. I miss myself but I don't know how to get myself back.
Maybe time will help? That's all I can come up with. Give myself a chance to awkwardly relearn how to be me, how to be human, how to live in the world.
But maybe all vestiges of myself haven't left me. There's one thing I am thinking. And it's that from my perspective, maybe from yours, too, it seems kind of ridiculous that a week of putting up drywall would affect me so extraordinarily. It's one week. Just one. Out the hundreds that I've lived so far and thousands I presume I will live before leaving the earth. How could one week rob me of myself?
I feel like I'm overreacting. Maybe I am. But even if I am, I can't deny anything that I've already said. I still feel the way that I do. Nothing I've said is made up. So since it's real, I really have to deal with it, and I have to find a real solution.
It is currently four days later. I think I can post this now. But first, a few updates.
1.) The drywall project didn't end at nine days. It has gone on 12 days, and I think the grand total will be at least 13. Maybe a full two weeks. My part ended at 7 days, but the rest of my family has still been hard at work. I feel for them.
2.) The house is still for sale. So far, no one has seriously considered buying it. These things normally take quite a bit of time. So while we likely will be staying here for a little while, it would still be nice to know if we're going to have to move or not. And when.
3.) I think I've been able to find myself again. I've spent some time with and talked to a few people. And I've been able to sing with conviction. I'll get there.
4.) I went to church today. And it was even better than I expected it to be. I love the body of Christ. And I love the fact that I look forward to church and actually find it to be an encouraging experience. Too many times that hasn't been the case.
"How could a love be a love without a cost
And how could a life be a life without the loss
I won't trust my senses over anything you say
It's harder but it's better this way
Thank you for the heartbreak
Thank you for the pain
Thank you for the sadness on the gloomy days of rain
Thank you that the hard times have a reason and rhyme
Thank you that the healing makes the beauty shine"
-downhere
Praying for you. Love you lots.
ReplyDeleteThat is all.